Adventures of the Fullmeddle Alchemist
by Destined To Repeat
Summary: Nice little mess you've gotten yourself into this time. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

--Sorry for the re-post ^^;

--You've come to a crossroad: choose left, and die a gruesome death. Choose right, and die a slightly less gruesome death. Choose center, and make it out alive--barely. Remember those books? Well, this is just the same, Fullmetal Alchemist style. Make decisions as Edward Elric that dictate where your story will go, who you ally yourself with, and how (or if) you can get out of sticky situations. Take down criminals, play poker with Al, face Winry's wrath, yell at the Colonel, get into trouble, and hopefully get out alive--it's all up to what you choose.  
Your first choice will be a very broad one, to pick the scene. And of course, pairings are based entirely on YOU, so remember to review and vote for option 1, 2, or 3.  
Are you ready...? Steady...? _Go!_

_((Choose-Your-Own Fanfiction: Adventures of the Fullmeddle Alchemist))_

...The towns fly by outside the train window, but you stopped paying attention to them hours ago. There are only so many trees you can watch before they cease to hold your interest, after all.

Al is still looking out the window, though. You think that maybe being unable to rest or sleep lengthens your attention span.

You frown and play with the hem of your red coat. When is this train ride ending anyway? You're hungry, and quite sick of sleeping on train seats. You're looking forward to getting a normal bed to sleep in--maybe.

_Then again, maybe I should be hoping that the train ride _doesn't_ end_, you remind yourself. It isn't like you have anything to look forward to (except for the bed, that is) once you get off. In fact, it might just be one of the most infuriating weeks you've ever had in your entire life.

And as a subordinate of _the_ Colonel Roy Mustang, that was saying something.

Yeah, now that you think of it, you're going to start hoping that the train stalls, or something blows up and makes you unable to reach your destination....

As you think this, the trains slows to a stop. The conductor yells for everybody to get their lazy butts off his train--

Well, okay, he doesn't say that. But you can tell that's what he means.

Aand--Fabulous. You're screwed.

Al looks at you, his head tilted in confusion, probably wondering why you aren't hurtling off the train at top speed like you usually do. "Ready to go?" he says.

You snort. "I guess so.....

1) ..... Mustang will be wanting the mission report," you mutter bitterly. "And we dare not upset our dear Colonel, right?"

~If you are going to Eastern HQ _after_ a mission, choose #1~

2) .....I want to get this mission over with," you tell him, standing stretching only a little resentfully. "It's just like Mustang to send us to some godforsaken town to oversee the sewers...."

~If you are going _to_ a mission, choose #2~

3) ...But I don't want to. Let's skip our orders and go somewhere else!"

~If you don't really care where the Colonel sent you, you're just not doing anything he says, choose #3~


	2. Chapter 2

1) ..... Mustang will be wanting the mission report," you mutter bitterly. "And we dare not upset our dear Colonel, right?"

... Al sighs, and the two of you shuffle off the train. "He just wants to make sure we got back okay."

"Because God forbid a monster would leap out of the sewer system and _eat us alive_," you reply, waving your hands in a sort of menacing pantomime.

Al...chooses to ignore that. "Well, either way, you should call the Colonel and let him know we're here--I mean, we _are_ a day late."

You kick a pebble out of your way as you mutter under your breath. The train station is packed. Luckily, Al's not such an easy person to lose in a crowd.

"If you skipped on your orders, you'd just get in trouble for it later," Al reminds you as you make your way through the station. Because he knows, and you know he knows, that it would be so much easier for the report to just _slip your mind_ for a few days. Or weeks. Months... You mumble an apology-agreement-sort-of. Al looks at you and you just know, somehow, that he's narrowing his eyes. "Go call the Colonel," Al reiterates. "That's what he said to do." And he points you in the direction of a payphone.

"_That's what he said to do_," you imitate sardonically, but only once Al is out of earshot. You slump over to the phone and glare at it.

And so, now you've got to talk to that idiot again. The week in Fort Runetol's sewers suddenly seems like a vacation on a sunny beach--both being equally Mustang-less.

You snatch the receiver from its handle, drop a few coins into the slot, ring the Colonel's office, and roll your eyes as the phone rings way too many times. You can just imagine the mad dash in the office, everyone leaping over each other to try to grab the phone before the person calling hangs up.

Finally, Riza picks up, her voice clipped and professional as usual. "Colonel Mustang's office."

It's hard to rant at Lieutenant Hawkeye. "Hey, it's Ed, I gotta talk to the b--Mustang. 'S he in?" you ask.

"Hello, Edward," she says. A muffled voice from the other side of the line pipes up, "Is that Ed?" The voice shuts up quickly, probably cowering under Lieutenant Hawkeye's wrath. "One moment please," she says to you. There's a pause.

Darn. You were hoping he was out.

The line picks up. "Something you want, Fullmetal?"

You grit your teeth to refrain from attempting to blow him up through the phone. That manipulative, egotistical, kiss-up of a b--

The voice on the other end sounds amused. "I don't have all day you know."

"You're the one who said to call!" you shout. People close by are giving you disapproving looks, but you ignore them. "I'm at the station. End of report. Are you happy now?"

"Yes, I am, thank you for asking," he replies. You make a face at the phone but bite your tongue before your automatic response can slip out. "You're back from your mission? What a shame. I was enjoying not having to strain my eyes to--"

"--try to see me, because I'm sooo short, right?" you finish for him, just about ready to storm up to the office and punch your commanding officer's lights out.

He smiled. You just know he did. "Do come up with your report as soon as possible. I look forward to hearing all about Fort Runetol's sewer systems."

"I'm sure you do," you reply bitingly. "You know, if your head gets any bigger, it could protect you from the rain. Or was that your plan all along?"

"Don't crush the payphone, Fullmetal," Mustang mentions casually, and you look down and grimace when you notice your right hand nearly flattening the phone handle. You pry your fingers off the metal and say hopefully, "I hope you're assassinated by the time I get there."

"Same here, Fullmetal."

Both of you hang up at the same time.

"Irritating moron," you growl, turning on your heel. "Al, he says to--Al?"

Al isn't behind you. You frown. The crowd is too thick to see very clearly, and you can't see the armor above the people either. Maybe he went to get food?

1) You scratch your head, shrug, and go to hail a cab.

~If you leave Al and head to the office alone, choose #1~

2) You sigh heavily and begin to push your way through the crowd in the direction of the food court.

~If you try to catch Al at the food court, choose #2~

3) You sit down at the nearest bench you can find and stretch out, knowing that when Al came back, this is where he would look.

--If you stay put, choose #3--


	3. Chapter 3

3) You sit down at the nearest bench you can find and stretch out, knowing that when Al came back, this is where he would look.

...You fidget while you wait, restless after being on the train and very ready to get out of the station already. You're glad that Al went to go get food though--you can hear your stomach whining, pretending that dinner had never happened.

Since Al isn't there to complain to, you grouse to yourself about having to go out of your way to deliver your report to the Colonel. Why can't he wait until tomorrow?

You answer yourself curtly: Because he's a jerk, that's why.

You tap your foot on the pavement and look around for Al. Where is that kid anyway? If he was picking up a kitten while you were waiting here, Al is seriously going to get it....

As your eyes scan the crowd, you catch sight of two men by the payphone you had just used, both tall, both looking somehow like they were trying to not be noticed, one with a cigarette in his hand. They don't look particularly strange, but something about them makes you stop, and as they move to speak you casually pull out your notebook and tilt your head toward it but try to listen in anyway. You concentrate on pinpointing their voices in the sea of traveling noise.

You watch out of the corner of your eye as the one with the cigarette glances around the station and, apparently finding nothing amiss, say to the second one, "We've been waiting, Garwin. Do you--"

A family and their luggage passes, chattering, between you and the men, and you grit your teeth. You can't hear the men through the noise. Finally they get father away, and you listen again for the men's voices.

"Your concern is touching, but quite unnecessary; the theory is flawless. It will be up to you if the execution pulls through, which I think perhaps is the matter requiring more of your apprehension," the second man was saying coolly. "Alchemy only works with the proper material."

You try not to stiffen. Whatever alchemy these guys were talking about probably wasn't your standard procedure. If they had brought someone in from out of town and were acting like they needed to hide something, they probably did. And discussing "the proper materials"... Maybe you're paranoid, but you immediately know that whatever these men are doing, it most certainly isn't legal, and a shiver winds its way down your spine before your can stop it. They're either talking about making gold or....

The man with the cigarette laughs, although the action sounds strained to you. "Come, Garwin, we should talk in a place more private...."

"Yes, you're right, of course...."

The second man picks up his large, ratty-looking suitcase and turns to follow the man with the cigarette. You....

1) ...casually close your notebook and try to follow them without looking like you're following them.

~If you want to keep listening, choose #1~

2) ....go to get Al, ASAP!

~If you want to find Al before doing anything, choose #2~

3) ... arrest them immediately!

~If you've already heard enough to convince you, choose #3~


	4. Chapter 4

1) ...casually close your notebook and try to follow them without looking like you're following them.

...You close your book with a yawn, and then stand up to stretch. You try not to act too obvious as you watch them disappear out of the train station. Once they're out of sight, you hurry across the station, dodging commuters in your haste to catch up. You think briefly of what Al will think when he finds you gone.

Stepping around two duffel bags piled on top of each other next to the wall, you lean up against it and peer around to see if the men are still there. They aren't, so you step into the hallway and turn the corner. You catch a glimpse of their backs retreating into the open air. You follow cautiously behind, hands in pockets and looking casual just in case they should turn around.

They continue walking down the street at a brisk pace. You stroll quietly behind them. "We're pleased to have an expert with us," the man with the cigarette mentions to the other, who smiles. "It will be an honor to make history with you, Garwin."

You feel like you were slapped in the face. Make history? If they were doing something illegal with alchemy and making history at the same time, they couldn't be making gold: it had been done before (you yourself are a testimony to that). So they must be talking about--

"Messing with human bodies is not to be taken lightly, Mr...?" he searched for a name.

"Brigman," says the man with the cigarette, smiling. "Ray Brigman." The name sounds almost familiar, but you can't imagine where you might have heard it—if it actually _is_ his real name.

"Mr Brigman," the second man says. "I hope you and your partners realize that."

"Of course, Garwin, we may not be as skilled in alchemy as you, but we are hardly dunderheads. We know that such a complicated technique is no laughing matter."

"And it would be even less of a laughing matter if word were to get out," says the alchemist with a grimace. "None of you will be joking about it if the government finds out."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering at the irony of it all.

"They won't," the first man assures him.

"Don't get cocky, Brigman. Those military dogs are everywhere." As if expecting to find one right behind him, Garwin turns to check.

And he looks straight at you, stunned.

You stare back, panicking mentally. While listening to their conversation, you had forgotten to keep a good distance and act casual.

You swear briefly and...

1) ....run!

~It's not too late to escape! Choose #1~

2) ...get ready to fight.

~If anybody was leaving this with their tails between their legs, it would be them! Choose #2~

3) ...refuse to run or avert your gaze. They can't prove you heard anything. Unless they don't _care_ if they have the proof....

~If you're going to stand your ground, choose #3~


	5. Chapter 5

3)... refuse to run or avert your gaze. They can't prove you heard anything.

.... Seeing him close up, the alchemist looks like he could use a good week's worth of meals. He's wiry and his hair is rumpled, sticking up in the oddest ways. There are bags under his eyes. He watches you silently, and you watch him back.

"Well, it's nice to meet you... ah...?" He looks at you as if expecting a name, but you don't reply. He pauses, slightly taken aback, and continues slowly, "Where are you going?"

"To the bookstore," you lie. "If you don't mind..." You try to step past them, hoping against hope to circle around back to the station, but Brigman politely holds you back.

"Did you happen to hear our conversation?" Brigman asks, attempting to be as gracious as Garwin and failing.

"No," you tell them blankly. "Should I have been listening?"

Both men narrow their eyes, calculating. "He heard. He probably followed us here from the station. We've been careless."

"I'm just going to the bookstore--" you try again, although you know it won't work at this point.

"Enough games, boy," Brigman spits, all pretenses of gentlemanliness gone. "Who are you?"

1) Lie. Duh.

--If you want to lie again and try to save your hide, choose #1--

2) Well, I'm doomed anyway....

~If you want to answer the question truthfully and what the heck, choose #2~

3) Uh, can I still run?

~If you want to run--again--choose #3~


	6. Chapter 6

--To all the reviewers, thank you so much, this story is such a pleasure to write, I pretty much write it in the shower at this point, I'm so excited about it. Thank you!  
You know what I figured out is bad about the combination of me and this story? I always feel so horrible about the minority in the votes--like, the other person who DIDN'T vote for option 3... I'm always sitting there before I post going, I'm sorry.... sorry, sorry..... Hahaha...? ^^;  
Aand, to xXSweetestXAngelXNightmareXx: LOL. I love you, man. And to lunawolfgirl7: :DD  
And now, back to Ed--er, that is, you--err... I mean, Ed... Whatever. Back we go.

1) Lie. Duh.

.... "Russel," you tell him. It's the first name that popped into your head. "Russel Tringham. I live next to the station. I was just walking behind you. There's no need to get crazy about it."

"I see. And I had thought that the only state alchemist your age was the child prodigy, Elric. The Fullmetal Alchemist. Have you ever heard of him?" Garwin asked. You realize with an unpleasant jolt that your pocket watch chain is hanging out of your pocket in full view.

_Darn it._

1) Um..... Lie?

~It's a last ditch attempt, but... Choose #1~

2) Seriously. Nothing worse can happen at this point.

~Answer the question already. With your fist. Choose #2~

3) ...run?

--to RUN FOR YOUR FREAKING LIFE Choose number three--


	7. Chapter 7

3) ......run?

.... You turn and run. For a moment the men are too shocked to do anything, but pretty soon they're right behind you, and the cat-and-mouse game is switched, you sprinting down the street trying not to hit anything and them chasing behind.

You curse your--you shudder at the thought--shortness. The length in their legs gives them an advantage; but you think you can lose them. You screech around a corner....

But before you can pick up speed, you feel a hand on your shoulder, holding you back. You're pushed up against the wall of a building, the alchemist's face very close to your own. "Edward Elric," he hisses, pronouncing each syllable of your name slowly. "Did you hear us in the station by chance? Or did the military send you? Do they know?"

1) Quick, kick him in the shins and run!

2) "No, I just saw you by chance."

3) "Yes. The military knows everything."


	8. Chapter 8

1) Quick, kick him in the shins and run!

.... You drive your metal foot into his knee, making Garwin buckle and clearing a path to escape. You move to make a run for it; but suddenly you hear a soft click behind you. You freeze.

The gun is put to the back your head. "Foolish boy. Your murder will undoubtedly cause us unwarranted trouble...but there is no alternative. We don't know how much you heard."

You slowly move your hands together, so as not to make him suspicious. He may know who you are but that doesn't necessarily mean he knows how you do alchemy--

"That's right," Garwin says behind him, sounding even more irritated than Brigman, and more smug. "Little Elric and his famous circle-less alchemy. All you need to do is clap your hands."

You swear. This time not so briefly.

"Hands where we can see them, Elric."

You warily lift your hands, wishing you were at least facing the other way. Your mind races, searching for some way--any way--to escape, but Brigman's gun--

"Excuse me, sirs, I'm going to need my brother back."

Your eyes widen. You've never been so happy to hear Al's voice.

The gun drops away from your hair, and you think it's safe to turn around cautiously....

Brigman and the alchemist are both looking at Al incredulously, as if they've never seen a suit of armor before. You notice he's holding a bag with grease seeping into the bottom. You take that as a good sign.

But that was the only good sign to be seen. Although Al's voice was calm, his stance was anything but. He was tense, ready to fight. He was also angry.

You gulp. You know he's angry at you for ditching him and/or making him worry--again. Not at the two men.

"Hey, Al," you say weakly.

"Alphonse Elric?" Garwin asks, surprised. "I thought he was the younger brother."

"I am," says Al. They all look at you. You scowl.

"I'M STILL WAITING FOR MY GROWTH SPURT, OKAY??"

Brigman smiles. You stop ranting and get ready to fight. But the fight never comes.

"We must have had you mistaken with someone else," the man says apologetically. You don't believe it for a second. They can't fight two master alchemists at once: They're outclassed and they know it. "Sorry for the misunderstanding." The gun has disappeared.

"Misunderstanding my--" Your furious retort is cut off by Al.

"Yes. Goodnight then."

Garwin nods. "We'll be keeping an eye out for you." There's a slight edge to his voice, and you know that they will.

You watch them warily as they set off down the street. You wish you could arrest them right there, but majors don't have that power. And besides, you have no proof.... And then there's Al to deal with....

1) Follow them. This isn't over yet!

2) There's nothing more you can do. Explain what happened to Al and let it go.

3) This calls for reinforcements. Head straight to Mustang's office and make him do something about it.


	9. Chapter 9

1) Follow them. This isn't over yet!

.... Al opens his mouth to begin chewing you out, but you put a finger to your lips, and he quickly shuts it again. You wave a hand toward where the two men disappeared and then pat yourself down all the vital areas, your head, your neck, your chest, in a silent _I'm fine. _

Both Garwin and Brigman are most likely far out of earshot at that point, but there is also a chance that they want to take care of you before you can tell anyone important. Al nods slowly, but you can tell he's still upset, and still expecting a better explanation, so you mouth an apologetic, _Soon._

He nods again, more sharply this time, as if to say, _It'd better be,_ and you smile and start off down the street, Al following closely behind.

Both of you peer around the corner, into an alley a few blocks behind the train station; this road is all shadows, eerily quiet. You hadn't realized how far you'd gone from the simple protection of having other people present. But then, nobody would be stupid enough to pull a gun in a crowded street.

A single car whirs down the street on the far side of the alley, lights searing through the near-night darkness, and you swallow, the tension building in your throat. Al shudders the tiniest bit behind you.

You step out into the alley, every muscle on alert, and you rotate on the spot, searching the alley for movement. Al stops in front of you. He makes a small sound of surprise and bends down to pick up a slip of paper....

It's just a bookmark, made of of cheap blue and white paper, like the ones you find for free at bookstores. You take it from Al and turn it around speculatively in your hand. It's stained by just an edge of a new, muddy footprint and what looked like very, very old coffee. It's nowhere near anything helpful, but it is slightly encouraging: These guys are entirely capable of making mistakes.

Though what kind of mistakes they are bound to make when dealing with human transmutation....

You hear the car screeching around the corner of the alley before you see it, and your heart leaps straight up through the roof of your mouth as it comes to an abrupt stop in front of you and Al. The door opens.

_"Al, get down!"_

It is far more instinct than thought process, nothing but a clap-flash, and you always have felt calmer with your arm transmuted into a two-foot steel blade. You leap forward before the driver can fully emerge, pulling the blade around behind you and

And Havoc stares back at you and his cigarette drops to the ground, and with a squeak he falls backward into the driver's seat; You let out a startled, stumbling yelp as your momentum flings you face-first into the cement.

There is complete silence for a few moments and then Havoc says, haltingly, "Boss?"

"Mmf," you mutter into the pavement. Your nose hurts.

"Hello, Lieutenant Havoc," says Al.

Havoc ventures to stick his head out of the car again, grinning nervously. "You were expecting someone else? I hope?"

"Um. Well, a little bit...."

"What are _you_ doing here?" you demand, twisting around on the floor so you can see the officer well enough to glare at him.

"You _called_ me!" he protests, and scoots back into the car a little, just in case of a repeat attack.

"We did _not!"_

"Actually..." says Al, and you _cannot believe this._

You can feel a headache coming on. "Alphonse. _Please_ tell me you didn't tell Mustang."

"I didn't tell the Colonel, I just called his office to ask if he had seen you-"

"You told the Colonel, you brat! Talking to anyone in Mustang's office is the same as talking to him...except probably less irritating-"

"Well, you weren't _there,_ what was I supposed to do? Maybe that'll teach you not to wander off without me next time-"

"I didn't _wander off, _you _know_ I didn't, if anything _you_ wandered off without _me-"_

"Guys..." Havoc tried.

"And then I find you with a GUN AGAINST YOUR HEAD, exactly what was_ that,_ Brother-?"

"Guys...?"

"So it's _my_ fault someone tried to kill me!"

"Of course it is!" Al screams back, arms flailing. "If you had just _waited_ for me-"

"Um, guys..."

"They would have been gone by the time you came back and _you know it_ you little-"

"You could have DIED!"

Havoc lights a cigarette.

"I would've figured something out before it came to that!"

"So you didn't really need my help, did you?" Al says, sarcastically.

"No!--what?--_No! _Of course I needed your help, Al, you know I'm useless by myself-" you backtrack, halfway to pleading now. Screaming matches never end well, unless they include sparring, and this one definitely doesn't, and if there's anything you hate it's fighting with Al. "Come on, Al, you know I need you..."

Al looks down. "And you know I don't like you following danger without me there but that doesn't seem to mean anything to you."

Ouch. "Al, come on, I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, I'm sorry, I won't do it anymore, okay? I'll be _so_ careful from now on-"

In a small voice. "Promise?"

"Promise." You hold out your pinky finger, and after a moment, he takes it in his own. You grin at him tentatively, and you know he does too.

"Um," Havoc clears his throat. You had forgotten he was there. "If we've worked that out..."

Right. Mustang. You scowl.

"What are you here for again?" you ask, rudely, but you can't help it, really...

"The Chief wanted me to give you two a ride...."

"Hear that?" you say, turning to Al, mock-appreciation soaking your voice. "Mustang may send us out on humiliating, crazy, life-threatening missions, but at least he arranges _a ride_ for us afterward. Have you ever_ imagined_ someone so considerate!"

"There're doughnuts in the car," says Havoc.

A pause.

You stomach growls. Loudly.

1) Fine. Get in the car, grab some doughnuts, and tell Mustang everything that happened when you get to HQ.

2) Get in the car, and go to Mustang's, but refuse to tell him anything _or_ eat the doughnuts. We've got_ our own_ food, thanks!

3) Refuse to get in the car, period.


	10. Chapter 10

It's the sort of room that could easily be used for poker. With a wide circular table and only the essential lighting, and located close to the heart of town but still remote, stashed to one side of one of Eastern Headquarter's busiest streets.

Mr. Brigman's cigarette smoke curls into the light, illuminating thick and faded grey. He glances around at the other three, and when nobody says anything, says haltingly, "He is said to be mostly independent. There is a chance he won't go to his superiors...."

The youngest there, a good-looking man in his twenties, slams a hand on the table, instantly silencing the older man. "A slim chance, Brigman! Hardly enough to pin our lives on! Elric is a dog of the military, and when ordered he will report."

"He's still a child," Garwin says, pale but calm. "And rumor has it that he and his commanding officer, Colonel Mustang, aren't the best of friends anyway. We could eliminate him before anyone of importance takes him seriously."

"You underestimate him." There is no room for argument in the fourth man's voice. "The Fullmetal Alchemist is of the most brilliant scientists of the generation. He is talented, powerful, and more importantly, influential. As the 'Hero of the People', he is perhaps the one soldier whose death would cause the citizens themselves to take action."

"Are you sure that you are not merely overestimating his value to the people?" the youngest asks, miffed. "Done right, we could turn this tide of events in our favor."

"I do not doubt," the fourth man murmurs. He doesn't say anything else.

"The Fullmetal alchemist will die, but not quite yet. All in due time… We can't afford to panic and misstep. For now we continue as planned; But proceed with caution." Garwin looks sideways at the youngest man, the other alchemist at the table.

In response, he smiles. "My thoughts exactly. It's time to make history, gentlemen. With our combined genius, it is only a matter of time before the Philosopher's Stone is ours."

Silently, they lift their cups in agreement. At the same time that the four men throw back their drinks, many miles away, Colonel Roy Mustang's office door is being slammed open by a certain short-tempered, donut-munching pipsqueak of an alchemist....

Back to Ed--


	11. Chapter 11

--Note: With the plot somewhat underway, I think it's time I remind you about the pairings work: They are chosen entirely by you. ENTIRELY. The choices you make, meaning where you go, who you meet, and what situations you get into (for instance, you break your automail, if you're an Ed/Winry fan-- Pro: time with Winry, more chances for the pairing to be Ed/Win. Con: YOUR AUTOMAIL'S BROKEN) and most importantly, how much time you spend with each of the characters, will dictate what the pairing is. I will write ANY pairing, literally, so don't think that if you make choices that lead right to Ed/Black Hayate I won't write it- because I WILL. (cackles) :D Also, keep in mind that starting from this point, Ed is dealing with Mustang. This story is very, very strictly in Ed's (your) point of view, so that may (will) result in Roy maybe looking worse than he actually is. Or maybe Ed is the only one who sees Mustang for who he is... (ponders) Anyway. Enjoy!

1) Fine. Get in the car, grab some doughnuts, and tell Mustang everything that happened when you get to HQ.

.... You storm into the office (more for appearances than anything, at this point) with Al trailing behind you. Breda, Falman, Fuery and Havoc are silently doing paperwork in their Efficient Soldier positions--Riza's not in sight. They must have thought she was coming.

Your hunch turns out correct because when the four of them see you they immediately melt back into their normal positions--all over the place and procrastinating on their work. "The Boss's in there," Havoc says, gesturing to Mustang's office with his cigarette. The door is closed.

Like you care.

You hear Al exchanging greeting with the officers behind you, but you're too busy breaking Mustang's door down to notice. He's also in his Efficient Soldier position, which fades when he sees you.

Hawkeye has them well-trained, you think.

"Took you long enough," says Mustang.

"Good to see you're as annoying as ever," you say, in your own brand of amiability. "I'm late because you have no idea what's going on under your nose."

"Mmhmm," says Mustang, totally not paying attention to you. "Very good. And where's the report?"

"Listen to me!" you shout, slamming your hands down on the desk. "There are people in Eastern Headquarters who have something to do with human transmutation--"

"You mean you?"

You ignore the jibe. "Do you know a Brigman or Garwin? They're part of it."

"Fullmetal, your report," he says.

You take the report out of your pocket but don't give it to him.

"This is serious, Mustang. If you don't do something, people are going to die." You're actually not totally sure about that, but it's definitely an educated guess, and also possibly the only smidgen of the Colonel's morals that you can appeal to.

He sighs and shifts in his chair, as if it's all your fault that he has to pay attention to what you're saying. "What happened?" he asked, bored.

1) Tell him.

2) Don't tell him. He's obviously not going to do anything. Let's just leave.

3) Let him figure it out for himself.


	12. Chapter 12

1) Tell him.

You narrow your eyes and tell him, "In the station I overheard these two guys, a Garwin and Brigman, talking about human transmutation. I followed them out of the station and they spotted me. I only got away because of Al. But anyway, this is serious. I'm going to need a team from Investigations, and possibly some trained lieutenants, for the actual evaluation, and I'm thinking you could get me some connections in Research--"

"How do you know that Garwin and Brigman are their real last names? It could be a false trail," he interrupts.

"Well—"

"And how do you know that they weren't talking in code? Did they ever even directly mention human transmutation?"

"But—"

"What business did you have following them anyway? You could be court-martialed for that."

"They—"

"Don't come in here ranting that I have to take action and hunt down some random people when you don't even have evidence that they've done anything wrong," Mustang says with great finality, still looking impatient.

"They had a gun to his head, Colonel," says Al. You and Mustang look up at him. You had forgotten he was there. "They would have killed him if I hadn't stepped in."

There is a pause. You want to gloat, but you won't because Al's here.

"So either way they would have to be tracked down for possession of a weapon and attempted murder of an officer," Al finishes.

Al makes a very good point.

Finally Mustang is starting to pay attention. He looks at the two of you thoughtfully for much longer, you think, than he really has to.

At last he opens his mouth, and the first thing to come out is: "You let them go?"

"Didn't have enough evidence to arrest them," you grumble.

"Then if they're really planning something illegal, they may want you two out of the way first," Mustang says calmly.

"Most likely," you reply, remembering their threat to 'keep an eye out for you.'

Mustang gives another ever-mistreated sigh. _Well, sorry for making you work a little_, you think, annoyed.

"Then I'll put a team together," he says, almost grudgingly. He looks at you and you repress a shiver. It's the same glance he gives you when you're trying to hide something from him. "And you two will need to stay out of this. I'll make sure you're put under some protection."

1) "What?? We can take care of ourselves just fine, we don't need protection! And we're not staying out of it either- this is our fight too!"

2) "Well, alright."

3) Punch him in the face.


	13. Chapter 13

1) "What?? We can take care of ourselves just fine, we don't need protection! And we're not staying out of it either—this is our fight too!"

.... Even before you finish your furious retort you hear Al stifle a groan next to you.

Mustang watches you, his eyebrows drawn down. You recognize the subtle signs of your superior officer beginning to lose his patience.

…Well, of course you do, you're the one who _causes_ that expression most of the time. "You have no choice in the matter, Fullmetal," he says coolly.

"You can't keep me from investigating, Mustang," you shoot back, beginning to get angry as well. "If they _are_ planning to dispose of me, I'd want to get to them first. What good would it do to sit here and wait for them to find me?"

"More than if you went to _them!"_ Mustang says, his own voice rising. You're just about ready to throttle him--_who does he think you are, some inexperienced brat with delusions of grandeur and the greater good?_--when Al says haltingly, "I think we should leave it at that, Brother."

"No, we are not leaving it at that, Al!" you yell back. "I refuse to go along with this idiot's orders, especially when he's clearly just trying to get me out from under his feet, and the two of us are _clearly_ the best possible people for this job!"

"How so?" the Colonel asks, not without a hint of condescension.

"And where else do you expect to find an officer with an A-Z knowledge on the elements of human transmutation?" you challenge. "If you intend to track them down before they do serious damage to themselves and the people around them, you're going to have to have someone who recognizes the foundational steps. Or do you expect them to hang a neon sign outside their hideout saying, 'ILLEGAL EXPERIMENTS, COUNTRY'S BEST'?" At the last words, you wave your hands sardonically in front of you. Mustang's eyes narrow, another sign of a growing temper.

"Fullmetal, if you won't obey direct orders, I'll have to pull you in under official supervision," he says, the impatience now clear in his voice.

"Come again?" you say.

He smiles slightly. "Call it being grounded. Instead of gallivanting around the country and generally making a ruckus, you'll be forced to come into the office like any other officer and do the paperwork that you yourself caused. You will not follow these alchemists." He looks straight at you, and you raise your eyebrows defiantly at him.

"I can't make any promises," you reply evenly.

"Two weeks," he says angrily. You notice that he is rubbing the forefinger and thumb of his--thankfully gloveless--hand together. "You will come into the office to do work--and yes, that means wearing the uniform," he adds when you look at him incredulously. "No library privileges," Mustang goes on, too casually. You splutter furiously. No library? Just for telling him about the people you saw?? "And a curfew, of course. I'll have guards out, making sure the two of you don't go...exploring... as you seem to be doing a lot of lately."

"So basically," you say, willing your anger to stay in check, "you're suspending all of my state alchemist privileges because I want to do my job as an officer."

"No," he says calmly. "I am suspending all of your state alchemist privileges because you are not to get involved in this case, and you won't listen to orders if I don't do it forcefully."

You want to punch someone, but instead you grab your suitcase from Al and throw it on the floor instead. "NO! This is completely unfair! I'm just as capable as you! I'm MORE capable than you, with your stupid _rain weakness--"_

"Three weeks!" he shouts, standing up as well.

"WHAT?? You stupid—! You can't do this! You just want to get back at me for skipping that idiotic medical exam, don't you? And this is just your excuse! You can't make me stay out of it, me and Al are already involved, and you have absolutely no idea what you're getting into with this case! All you're doing is barring us in so those guys can come and kill us more easily!"

"Four weeks!" he yells back.

Al puts a warning hand on your shoulder as you begin to clap your hands together. "Don't make it worse," he says anxiously.

"What? Surely you don't agree with this moron?" you demand.

"Whether or not you agree, Fullmetal, if you don't do as I say, I'll fire you," Mustang tells you, his anger now under control and carefully schooled into his usual mask of indifference. You curl your hand into fists but don't reply. "Don't try to go to the library or sneak out tonight, either, it will get back to me no matter how careful you are." He turns away from you in his chair, indicating that the conversation was over. "We'll see you tomorrow. The work day starts at nine in the morning. Dismissed, shrimp."

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL HE WOULD GET SQUASHED BY A PARACHUTING FLEA?!"

"Brother!" Al groans.

You wrench away from Al. "YOU NO-GOOD IDIOT OF A MANIPULATIVE B--"

"Dismissed, Fullmetal," he says, smirking.

Warily, Al begins to drag you, still cursing, toward the door, and you...

1) ... pull your arm from his grip and rush back to keep arguing. He can't do this to you!

2) ...let him. It's obvious that this jerk isn't changing his mind.

3) ...head straight to another of Mustang's staff to get THEM to argue for you.


	14. Chapter 14

1) ... pull your arm from his grip and rush back to keep arguing. He can't do this to you!

You wrench away and the tirade is halfway out your mouth when the door slams open and a gunshot cuts you off. The room is suddenly silent.

"There is an important call going on in the main office, sir," she says, utterly, almost creepily calm. You can't help but wonder,_ she would rather have gunshots in the background of an important call than yelling?_

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," Mustang manages to smile weakly, even with a bullet tangled in his hair.

"Finally!" you cry, throwing your hands up in relief. "The voice of reason! Go ahead, Mustang, why don't you ask_ her_ who's right?"

He doesn't say anything, just looks at Hawkeye, and she looks back, as if the two of them have some sort of secret excessive-eye-contact code.

She finally looks away. "I'll contact Lieutenant Beggens, then", whoever that is, but before she could leave you insist, "So? Don't you think he's being an idiot?"

You can practically feel Mustang's irritation coming off him in waves behind you. Hawkeye pauses, then says calmly, "I don't think it really matters. You would be forced to do what he says anyway, wouldn't you?"

You gape at her, feeling like the floor was pulled out from under you. You counted on the rational Lieutenant to point out the flaws in Mustang's fabulous plan. Al is still pulling you out of the office, while you struggle to come up with a reply. You are nearly out the door by the time you manage to scream, more out of frustration than out of really meaning it, "FINE! _FINE!_ I'LL FIND MY OWN WAY OUT AND TRACK THESE GUYS DOWN BY_ MYSELF!_ FIRE ME IF YOU WANT TO, BUT I'D RATHER BE FIRED THAN _DEAD!"_

That's when you are yanked out of the room. Offices all down the hall have heads sticking out to see what Fullmetal is complaining about this time. You shoot them a glare that would murder stone and most of them shoot back out of sight. Al is still making sure you don't run back to Mustang's office and beat him up.

You pull away from him and reach sullenly for a sandwich as the two of you continue down the hall. You notice that Al picked up your suitcase when you threw it before. Good ol' Al. He's the only one you can trust, really.

"Stupid military, stupid Mustang, they're all idiots," you mutter between bites. You're still simmering after being chewed out by the Colonel, this time for doing absolutely nothing wrong. "Even Hawkeye. You'd think he has them under a spell or something." You finish off the sandwich and take another, only realizing now how hungry you were, even with those donuts on the way here.

Al says nothing. You can tell he, at least, agrees with you, though. He wants to investigate this as much as you do.

1) Try to sneak out to investigate, regardless of what Mustang said.

2) If you get fired, you'll be in even more trouble than you were before. Serve your time, wait for the perfect moment. Return to your dorm like Mustang wanted you to.

3) Go back to the office.


	15. Chapter 15

1) Try to sneak out to investigate, regardless of what Mustang said.

"So. The plan tonight," you grin, turning to Al with raised eyebrows.

"Maybe we shouldn't...." he begins, always the reasonable one. You grin wider, knowing that the argument was over before it began. You continue walking down the familiar halls of East Headquarters at a careless pace so you won't attract attention. You lower your voice and say, "Once we get out of Headquarters we head toward the dorms. If we go straight away, we'll be asking for the military to notice. Once we get to Redhorn road, instead of going left to the dorms, we'll turn right, real casual, and then wind around until we're sure we're not being followed. Got it?"

Al just nods, nonchalantly shifting your suitcase. You can't help but feel proud that you raised your baby brother into a properly disobedient adult.

You reach the outer door, your heart beginning to race with the familiar rush of adrenaline. Just as the two of you step into clear night air, you're met by a young officer, not older than twenty-five, who immediately offers you a hand to shake.

Both of you stare at him, strung up on nerves and bursting to run. The silence lengthens awkwardly until the officer says hesitantly, "I'm Lieutenant Beggens. Colonel Mustang assigned me to make sure that you arrive at your dorms safely."

Another stream of emotion races through you, this time irritation. You move to storm back into Headquarters. Al drags you back. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Let's go then." It is then that you notice that the officer has a gun. You shiver.

You slump reluctantly after them, looking around for the right time to make a run for it. But either Lieutenant Beggens was naturally observant or Mustang warned him about you, because he barely took his eyes off you. The entire way to the dorms, he watches you as if expecting you to blow up at any time. At the street you and Al had planned to escape, you briefly consider just bolting and hoping that the man didn't have very good aim with that gun. But Lieutenant Beggens raises his eyebrows at your obvious longing glances at the opposite street, and you reluctantly follow after him, mentally cursing Mustang all the while.

The officer throws you a card key to your dorm. "You're in room 43. That's the fourth floor--"

"Third room down, yeah, I know," you mutter grumpily. This guy is surprisingly and irritatingly well-prepared, as well as cleverer than most lieutenants, which basically means that he was one of Hughes's men. It also means that Mustang is getting even sharper in old age.

_Darn it._

You hope against hope that Beggens will leave you now that you're at the dorms, but he follows you up the stairs to room 43 and waits for you to open the door. You pause, your hand on the doorknob, and consider your options...

1) Try to catch Beggens off-guard and make a run for it--and hope he wasn't authorized to actually use his gun.

2) Go into your dorm to brood and scheme.

3) Knock Beggens out. This is a serious situation, and besides, he was asking for it.


	16. Chapter 16

--IMPORTANT: One of the reviewers has told me that this format of fanfic isn't allowed. I guess I didn't read the guidelines very well... I'm going to have to take down this story if I don't want it to be SHUT down- but I'm really, really upset, I was having so much fun with this story. Can anyone PLEASE help me find some other way, another format or whatever, to let me keep writing this story? I would be so, SO thankful.  
Also- 100 reviews?? Wow, thank you so much!  
I'm sorry to all the readers and reviewers. :( I guess if we can't find another way to do it, this is the last post....

* * *

.... Roy Mustang, sitting in his shiny leather chair and not doing paperwork, wonders vaguely if he should feel bad about this.

Either way, he doesn't, although he does wish he hadn't told Fullmetal to bring his report in so soon--it just served to add on to the paperwork that Lieutenant Hawkeye was making him finish before he could go home for the night.

As his thoughts return to the brat, the Colonel frowns. Honestly, it was just like Fullmetal to go two weeks on a mission without a single major calamity and then come back to Headquarters and immediately get involved in a possible human transmutation.

It was also just like Fullmetal to be the one to find out about it, the short-tempered brat being the only one so idiotically stubborn that he would probably try to climb out his dorm window or blackmail the bodyguards in order to hunt the rogue alchemists--or whatever they were--down. Which is why Roy Mustang is prepared.

Beggens knock and comes into the office when Mustang calls "enter." He does exactly that (much more respectfully than Fullmetal ever did, Roy can't help but notice) and sits at a chair in front of the Colonel's desk.

"You were right about Major Elric trying to run--I'm starting to think the gun was the only reason he didn't."

Roy sighs. How very predictable. "I'll deal with it. Thank you, lieutenant. It's good to see I can still count on you to be ready within a moment's notice."

Lieutenant Beggens grins. "I've learned that being available at any time gets you the most interesting assignments."

Roy Mustang grins back. He does like Hughes's men, he really does. All of them are officers you wouldn't normally find, tinted in Hughes's good humor and highly intelligent. "I can assume, then, that you have the guards put up where I've asked?"

"Plus one more," says the lieutenant. Roy thinks of his own unruly subordinates and can't help but shake his head. "Just in case. He seems ready to blow a hole in the wall any minute now, to tell the truth."

There is a short pause. Colonel Mustang considers this, amused.

"Major Elric really, really wants you dead, you know that?" Beggens says, as if this was the first time Roy was hearing it.

It most definitely wasn't, though. "Yes," Mustang says, a bit too gleefully. "Yes, I know."

Beggens shakes his head, leaving the "Your funeral, I suppose" unspoken. "Well, if you ever need me, just holler."

"Of course. Ahh...dismissed, Beggens," the Colonel says absently. The lieutenant stands, and he is just about to leave (Roy wants deeply to follow him--he casts a disdainful glance at his unfinished paperwork) when Beggens turns and murmurs, almost-but-not-quite concerned: "He seems to be the type to try to get himself involved the more people try to keep him out of it, doesn't he?"

Mustang doesn't answer. Beggens takes that as a response and leaves, quietly closing the door behind him.

The Colonel turns in his shiny leather chair to face the window showing only cloudy night sky, and has to admit that Beggens is right.

Not that Mustang is going to do anything about it. Fullmetal is old enough to take care of himself.

Now all Roy has to do is get that through his own head.

Back to Ed--


	17. Chapter 17

--IMPORTANT NUMERO TWO: Thank you for all your ideas and support! So here's what going to happen: the title will be changed by the next update, so make sure if you want to follow this story that you story alert it or something. (The title would be sort of a giveaway, no?) So will the summary. As for the choices, I'm going to write them into the story, see, see? See how smart we are? xD I could write for instance, 'you could run, or hide, or fight' (of course, written better and in more detail, but you get the point) and you _may just have_ an opinion about which one it is..... :DD Yay, I get to continue the story! Thank you again!

* * *

You wake up annoyed. You sit up in bed, not quite sure why it is that you are annoyed, and wait until the memories from the day before return to you. They do. You are even more annoyed.

You swing out of bed, recalling drowsily how you paced around the dorm last night, strategizing furiously and ranting--near-snarling, really--to the ever-patient Al, about that idiotic, morally corrupt jerk who enjoyed watching his subordinates suffer. You considered every angle, running every possibility through your mind, growling more and more viciously as each turned impossible--you couldn't climb out of the windows, there were guards. You couldn't escape through the ventilation, you had a dorm with a shaft that led only to the fully-enclosed heater room, not anywhere near outside. You couldn't barge your way out, not unless you wanted to be court-martialed. You kicked the wall a few times, and heard guards jump away, swearing, right outside. Stupid Beggens!

Finally Al had gotten you somewhat to bed, and you had fallen asleep fuming and scheming. And now you were even more irritated from a night of restless cursing. You enter the kitchen/living room area, where Al is heating up a roll and some eggs from yesterday. "Good morning," he says, hearing your uneven footsteps in the doorway.

"Morning," you grunt, blowing your loose blonde hair out of your face in annoyance. Yet another thing to add to your already less-than-cheerful mood. You sit down at the table, and Al gives you a plate full of steaming food. You grin at him in thanks, your mood lightening immediately. At least there's still Al. And there's still food. And your automail isn't hurting. And the dorm's heating system is working properly for once. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all... At least you could eat your breakfast in peace.

"By the way, Lieutenant Beggens stopped by."

Well. There goes _that._

"He dropped off your uniform, and told me to remind you that he'd be here to pick you up at ten to nine."

You almost drop your fork. "Uniform??"

"He said that Colonel Mustang insisted."

You swear, long and bitter, and snarl, "I will not wear the uniform. I might be forced to do paperwork and be a good military dog for the time being, but I won't wear the uniform!"

"You're making it a bigger deal than it is," Al sighs.

"You think?" you reply angrily. "Mustang is taking away all the reasons why I joined the military in the first place. Anyone else would let us go after those alchemists. Anyone else would give us the _privileges _that I was promised!"

"I think he wants to make sure we don't get hurt," Al murmurs. You grit your teeth. Whatever Beggens said when he was talking to Al must have brainwashed him, because there was no way Mustang was… what, trying to _protect _them? It was a laughable idea.

"Whatever," you say, knowing that arguing with Al won't get you anywhere. "I'm not wearing the uniform."

"All right," Al says, although he still doesn't agree with you. He (wisely) changes the subject: "Did you read the article about the new angle-drawing theory, from Trisden City? I've heard that the Northern State Alchemist scouts are raving over him--Carlton Magyar, I think his name was...."

"Oh, yeah, it was in the newspaper on the train, wasn't it? That guy's bogus. Either he sincerely thinks he's right and he's just an idiot, or he's a genius and having a blast messing with the military." You frown, chewing thoughtfully. "I think it's the latter, because the basis of his theory really makes a lot of sense. Rest of it's total idiocy, though."

You let yourself be distracted, working your way through breakfast, until finally your plate is clean and you are slightly more amiable, and you are just washing your dishes out when there's a knock at the door.

You try to ignore it, but after a couple of knocks, Al goes to get it. And of course, it's that shameless kiss-up, Beggens. He looks at you and all your rumpled, pajama-clad glory and raises an eyebrow, grinning slightly. "Isn't it about time you got dressed...sir?" His eyes move to the folded uniform on a chair near the door. You fight down the urge to decapitate him.

You consider your possiblities. You could get dressed in the uniform and go to the office with Lieutenant Beggens like a good little puppy, or you could get dressed in your usual clothes, and let the consequences be darned. Or you could... you know. Refuse to go anywhere.


	18. Chapter 18

--LAST IN THE 'IMPORTANT' TRILOGY: Yess! Choose-Your-Own--I mean, AotFA lives! It's ALIIIIIIVE!! (lightning strikes) Thanks for all your 'suggestions' and conspiratorial winks and such. You guys are amazingfantasticawesome (blows kisses)  
Secondly: With the combination of my new tutoring job (for this adorable little hyperactive redheaded girl- she wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up, she's the cutest thing ever (Hughes-like gushing)) and ACTs (without math, my practice ACT got a 33 out of 36. _With_ math, however, I got a 21. L-lol....?) I'm suspecting that updates will come slower. Only 'suspecting' because I always write these things faster than I think I will, so you never know... :x Anyway, beware ;)  
ALSO, I can't figure out a way to put the choices into the story and still sound normal, so LISTEN CLOSE: You could be typical, you could agree, or you could be blunt. Not that I'm telling you to _choose what will happen next_ or anything.... (twiddles thumbs innocently)

And on to the story. Thanks again to all the wonderful readers and reviewers who have stuck with me through these... strange times...

* * *

.... You reluctantly take the uniform and go back to the bedroom, shooting Beggens glares all the while. But once you're inside the room, you toss the blue outfit aside and reach for your usual clothes, grinning rebelliously to yourself. You dress quickly, sliding your red coat over your t-shirt and grabbing your pocketwatch off the table. You check your pockets for your research notebook, at least one spare pen, your wallet, and find them all there. You nod to yourself. See, these are good, reliable pants, with good, reliable pockets. None of that scratchy blue material and short pockets that can hold nothing but a credit card or two. Ironically, the uniform pants pockets could barely fit the pocketwatch. That was one of the reasons why you have never lowered yourself to donning one of those monstrous uniforms. You quickly twine your hair into a braid, an action nearly instinct by now.

You emerge from the bedroom and meet Beggens gaze unblinkingly. It isn't like he's going to shoot you for not wearing the uniform. Besides, as a mainly traveling soldier, you aren't required to wear it. Beggens finally looks away with a sort of shrug, and opens the door for you.

"Call me during your lunch break," says Al. "Did you remember your wallet?"

"I will," you say, smiling briefly at Al before turning to glare at the lieutenant some more. "And yes, I've got everything. Don't get in trouble without me." You carefully emphasize the last two words--getting in trouble _with _you is no problem, of course. Beggens seems amused.

With one final wave, you follow Lieutenant Beggens onto the fourth floor landing. The dorm door slams shut behind you, and you immediately turn on your heel and tell the man bluntly, "If Mustang wants to threaten me, I would rather he did it himself."

The officer looks at you appraisingly. Finally he smiles. "Colonel Mustang always seems to find all the interesting subordinates, doesn't he?"

You watch him, half wary, half angry. "I'm not like his other men," you say quietly, thinking of their mindless loyalty, their close relationships with the Colonel.

To your surprise, the officer laughs outright. "That's for sure!" You frown, wondering what he could be referring to--your temper? Your alchemy? Why would Beggens notice any of the differences between you and the others? Seeing your expression, the man tries to hide another grin. "Although, you may be less different than you think."

You're starting to think that this guy is messing with you. "You're contradicting yourself," you tell him, never one for fancy talking and subtleties.

"Depends on who's point of view you're looking from," Beggens says. You frown even deeper. Yes, he is definitely messing with you.

He starts down the stairs, and you go after him, almost from instinct. "Whether or not you are different, though, to a smart officer, doesn't matter here. In this situation you're as dead-ended as the rest of us. Personality is frowned upon in the military." He doesn't even glance over his shoulder.

You don't reply. You follow Beggens down the stairs, feeling almost guilty about not wearing the uniform. It was true, Mustang, unlike most Colonels, had always dealt more lightly with you. This was the first time he had ever requested a uniform, maybe you were just being petty by not wearing it...

You reach the street and walk the few blocks in silence, not even bothering to look for ways to escape. You feel conflicted, torn between guiltiness and defensiveness and anger at both feelings and how they made you feel ridiculous. Finally you reach the door to Headquarters. Just as you enter, Beggens says casually, "Oh, and another thing I didn't expect: I thought you'd be taller." The officer shrugs, you freeze. The door swings shut in your face.

You explode.

You storm into Colonel Mustang's office in all your usual fiery temper, all traces of any form of guiltiness gone, shouting furious curses the entire way. You kick the door open, slamming the doorknob against the opposite wall, and stampede into the office ready to sever some heads.

"Hey, Boss," says Havoc nervously.

_"I'll kill him!"_ You stomp past him to the main office, and everybody jumps out of your way. You slam the door to the Colonel's office open with your fist; Mustang looks up from his desk, as calm and infuriatingly smug as usual.

"Good morning to you too, Fullmetal." He glances at your appearance, eyebrows rising. "And you didn't even wear the uniform. I'm going to have to give demerits for that."

"Keep your freaking demerits!" You cross the office in two steps, fully intending to smash the colonel's desk into pieces or something similar. But before you can open your mouth and shout and fight and drag Mustang into an all-out war, he lifts a gloved hand and puts his index finger and thumb together, poised to snap.

"Your desk has been set up next to Falman's. I hope there won't be any trouble...?" He says it as a question, but you know that there is no room for argument here. You swallow, regarding the small alchemic circles sewn onto the backs of his gloves. Slowly you answer...


	19. Chapter 19

--...I usually don't do author's notes, just the occasional important one, but I want to thank you guys again, and note that every single suggesti--_review,_ that is--included swearing. Just... LOL (laughs) Most of you vot--_suggested_ that Ed said what's on his mind ;) This chapter: In which Mustang is confusing.

* * *

"Something Beggens said made me think... you usually let me get away with stuff that most people would be thrown in prison for. And right now, you're punishing me for absolutely nothing. Why is that?"

The words are out before you can stop them, out of your mouth with absolutely no interference from your brain. Mustang looks at you, surprised for a split second before the professional, distant mask can descend again. He replies, would-be calmly, "You have more leisure than I'd like, Fullmetal. You mistake your... unusual privileges for being of my own control--when they are actually mainly issued from higher ranks. Being the youngest-ever State Alchemist and a self-acclaimed genius, as well as the so-called Hero of the People, does have its advantages, I suppose, if nothing else than in having a unique position that makes you a good person to be nice to."

You frown. So there was no reason at all for your feeling guilty? Mustang only lets you off by orders of the higher-ups?

Well, at least it's nice to know that you had been in the right, and Al had been in the wrong--Mustang really doesn't care about the two of you.

"As for the current situation," Mustang continues, "it is my decision, in this sort of climate, exactly who is qualified to take care of possible illegal transmutations. I have decided that you are not the one for the job, and that is supposed to be final." You open your mouth furiously, ready to start another rant, but the Colonel cuts you off. "Because you refused to follow orders, however, I had full reason to suspend you. There is no bias here, or any personal motivation in my decisions. I have merely operated under standard military procedure."

"Standard military procedure!" you burst out. "So maybe you aren't being manipulative, maybe you're just being an idiot! Me and Al are a thousand times more qualified for this job than for the truckload of pointless missions you've sent us off on. Even without knowing our history, any other officer would agree with me, because we're already involved! Why won't you let us help?!"

"Why won't you let me keep you out of trouble for once?!" Mustang retorts, and immediately freezes. You stop, too, taken aback by the Colonel's unveiled frustration; you have to play his words over again in your head before the meaning hits you.

You fall silent, almost embarrassed, and for the only time you can remember, there is a hush of quiet between the Fullmetal Alchemist and the Flame Alchemist. His face slides into the imperturbable mask that he usually wears, only shattered for a moment, but he doesn't bother breaking the silence. You feel like you would say something if you could, but you suddenly have no idea what to say.

"So. Um," you say at last, because even brainless stammering is better than this unnatural silence.

But Mustang smiles. Then he adds, quickly, "But by the way, I really am not biased."

Your head is starting to spin--you were never good with these psychological things, that's usually Al's forte. Does this mean that Mustang does look out for you, or not? And why in the world would Mustang think you understand these word riddles? But you try to nod and look like you know exactly what's going on.

Maybe you don't look convinced enough, because the Colonel frowns, and his hands fold in front of his chin like they always do when he's starting to get irritated. "If the conversation is over, Fullmetal," Colonel Mustang says, one eyebrow raised, "I expect to see you in the required uniform tomorrow--But right now I think it quite time that you got started on your work."

You consider your options: you could stop fighting and start working already, or you could keep arguing... or, you could try to strike a deal with him, and try to get at least whatever information you can about the case. And to be able to wear whatever you want. Hm..


	20. Chapter 20

--Man. Have I mentioned I love you guys? :DD Thanks for your awesome TOTALLY NOT SUSPICIOUS IN ANY WAY (WINKWINK) reviews. Most of you suggested that Ed try to strike the deal. Also, to oldercousin: Yeah, I explained a while back how the pairings are going to go- based on how you choose to interact with different characters- and the truth is, the decision a while ago, to be completely honest with Mustang, _was_ a step in the yaoi direction. But that doesn't mean that the whole story has suddenly turned yaoi, it's just one LEEETLE building block of a LOT of other similar choices that will have to be made in order to make this story Roy/Ed. Or any other pairing for that matter. What I'm trying to say is, you'll get plenty warning when the story is starting to turn a certain way- enough time that if you so desire, you can quickly steer it away from that pairing :) (...Does that make ANY sense?) I'm glad you liked the chappie! I did too ^^; And, to lalalatala: xD I think that's actually one of the reasons why I keep updating so fast- I don't KNOW what's going to happen! (I mean... YES I DO.) I'm as excited to see what will come next as the rest of you (or more) :D Thank you so, so much for your readership and support (huggles)  
Jeez. Long pointless author's note for the fail :P I'm getting into a bad habit...

* * *

"Listen," you try to soften your voice, and you're not sure whether or not you succeeded, "I'll work and be good and everything, if you keep me updated on the alchemy case. And if I can wear whatever I want," you add, after a moment of thought. "Okay? And that means no censoring out what you think I shouldn't know!"

Mustang raises both eyebrows this time. "Fine. I'll pass along everything I hear on the case--but you still have to wear the uniform."

"How about you pass along everything you hear on the case--and I give you my word that you won't see me leaving my dorm without permission," you hedge. Objective words: _you won't see_. Not to say that you won't leave without permission...

One side of Mustang's mouth quirks up, which makes you think that maybe he caught the connotation, but he says anyway, "Deal."

"Okay," you agree, grinning. You definitely got the better side in this agreement. "Then you have my word that you--or any of your guards--will not see me leaving my dorm without permission." You would make an effort to get the guards removed, now that you've promised, but you know that Mustang doesn't really trust you (for good reason, truthfully) and would never agree to it.

"As for the information, I have a team arranged. They will be reporting in this afternoon," the Colonel says. It's another reminder of how unfair he's been with this whole situation, but it also gives you something to look forward to later. Because you are not looking forward to the promised paperwork.

Paperwork. Bleah. You'd rather poke your own eyes out with a spoon.

Mustang seems to feel the same way. He sees you gazing miserably at the pile of papers on his desk and says, "It's a necessary evil."

You sigh in defeat. "Where's my desk?" You know the drill--no paperwork, no information. It's a necessary evil for you in an entirely different way.

Mustang smirks. You scowl.

__

Working in the office for once is an...experience. It was a refreshing change, not having to deal with train schedules and maps and tracking people down and asking them whatever you were told to ask them, running from crazy people, getting arrested every once in a while, having people trying to kill you--it always happens eventually--You know, the usual. Instead you sat in the same chair with the same people around you, in the same room, with what looked like the same few hair-tearingly boring papers.

Sometimes, when Breda randomly started cracking jokes and Havoc burst out laughing and Riza had to shoot a warning bullet into the wall behind them, it was pretty entertaining. Or whatever Fuery was working on started sparking, or Falman--actually, Falman never did anything. But he did offer to go for coffee runs, which was greatly appreciated. Every hour or so, you would ask casually if anyone needed any errands runs, but it looked like Mustang had gotten to them first, because they looked nervously at the Colonel's office door and said no repeatedly.

It is nice, though, that all the officers treat you like you've been working in the office all along. You like Mustang's crew, they can be very cool when they want to be. Too bad they had to be under Mustang. That brought them down about five hundred coolness points.

When you aren't sifting through mind-numbingly monotonous work--you wonder how anybody could do this as a permanent job, your brains would probably ooze out your ears if you had to do this for much longer--you think about Al. And about how you can escape later from your dorm. And about the Brigman and Garwin case.

(Your preoccupation may have something to do with why Hawkeye kept slamming paperwork files on your desk with way too much force, startling you out of your thoughts.)

But even thinking about more interesting things wasn't enough to stave off the boredom. In fact, you eventually got so desperately bored that at about eleven o'clock, you barged into the Colonel's office and demanded that he give you something else to work on. Of course, this prompted a variety of infuriating smirks and a lecture on how "if you can't deal with the paperwork you cause yourself, you shouldn't make it...blah blah blah... maybe now you'll stop getting into so much trouble (yeah, right)...blah blah blah..." And eventually you just gave up on the quest for more interesting work, because at the rate this was going, you were going to die from boredom even quicker listening to Mustang.

Lunch break was _vastly_ appreciated. You, Breda, Fuery, and Havoc--all of which had been watching the clock studiously--scrambled out of your desks the second the clock hit 12:30 and shot out of the office as if a gun had a gone off and started a race.

Havoc and Breda dragged Fuery away to the bar once you hit the street. You waved at them cheekily while Fuery flailed and attempted to make a run for it. They had offered for you to join them, but you were hungry and just wanted get some good, real food.

That was, at least, what you thought before you realized that if you didn't go with them, Beggens would have to accompany you on your lunch break.

He informed you so, walking up to you as soon as the other officers were out of sight. You keep yourself from making a scene in the middle of the street when he talks to you so casually after calling you sho--that word.

"If you stayed out of trouble like a normal kid, you wouldn't have to be tailed everywhere," Beggens sighs, seeing your irritation.

Thank you. That helps.

What now?


	21. Chapter 21

--Thank you, thank you, forever and ever, for your fabulous reviews ;) I can't figure out how to say how much I love you guys without sounding like an utter retard, so just... (blows kisses) and ha-ha, yes, luna moon girl, this fic can indeed turn yaoi if the readers--that is, if _I_--decide to take it that way.... :D

* * *

You try to look resigned, while mentally running through the nearby streets and wondering which would be best to lose Beggens in. "Fine," you sigh, gesturing for Beggens to follow you. "I'm going to call Al before I eat.... or maybe I'll eat before I call Al, you never know how long our conversation will be...."

Beggens raises his eyebrows at you, slightly exasperated by the show of childish behavior. You ignore him.

"Well, maybe if I eat first and take a long time talking to Al, I'll get to go back to the office later," you say slowly, and not a little bit hopefully. Beggens grins.

"Good luck with that," he tells you. You scowl, but your mind considers the comment, remembering Beggens's gun and calculating distances. Meanwhile, Beggens pipes up beside you. "Aren't we supposed to be getting food right about now?" he says.

You pause, and then nod and start off toward a good hotdog stand you remember, eager to be rid of the lieutenant.

You can hear the lieutenant scrambling to catch up with your suddenly rapid pace, and you carefully, without looking down or slowing down or making too much of a show of it, remove the nub of your pocket-watch chain and put it into your pocket before he can get close enough to see.

Lieutenant Beggens catches up pretty quickly, actually, and he acts like the this-close-to-running pace is nothing more than a stroll, the show-off.

You let him walk next to you for a few minutes, before stopping suddenly, making Beggens almost trip over himself.

He turns to you, irritated. You try not to look as smug as you feel, having passed the aggravation onto someone else. "If you're trying to lose me by _out-walking_ me, you've got another thing coming—"

"I wasn't trying to lose you, you've got a gun," you snap back, doing a pretty good job of mirroring Beggens's irritation. "I was _trying_ to give you a _hint_, which obviously either went right over your head or you decided to ignore it—"

"If you're trying to tell me that my services aren't exactly _wanted_, I think I caught that much, actually—"

"_No_, you _moron_, I was trying to tell you not to walk so close!" you shout back, arms flailing.

Beggens gives you an impatient, frustrated look. "Why, so you've got more of a head start when you make a run for it?"

You growl in exasperation, "NO, so people don't associate _me_ with _you!"_

He stops. You concentrate on keeping a straight face.

He turns to face you completely, face solemn, and his eyes run down your clothes—you're immediately thankful that you decided not to wear the uniform—hitching on your right pocket, which no longer shows any sign of a military pocket-watch. In fact, there isn't a single reason why any stranger looking at you would think you have anything to do with the military whatsoever.

He looks back at your face again, and you have to keep from wincing.

You had been counting on the fact that Lieutenant Beggens is an experienced soldier, all too used to hostility from civilians, and more importantly, too used to the few soldiers who want their jobs but who are too afraid to put themselves on the bad side of the majority of the country. The officers who hide their pocket-watches, volley for field work so they won't have to wear the uniform, sometimes even denying that they were ever employed by the military at all.

It helps, also, that you're known as the "People's Alchemist"…. It's a title just _begging_ for rumors to be attached to it, and of course plenty of rumors were supplied, so quickly and smoothly that you couldn't help but be impressed despite yourself.

And of course, not the least of these rumors was the little tale about how the Fullmetal Alchemist was actually _so_ dedicated to the people that he despised the military and everything that had to do with it, and only joined up because he was being blackmailed. Or something like that.

Another thing you had been counting on was that Beggens had heard that particular rumor.

Which he had, apparently.

"Fine," says Beggens, his voice low. He looks down at his own uniform, trademark military blue, and then he looks at his gun. You can't quite keep the grimace from your face. "I'll hang back a few feet, if it really mea—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "But if you so much as eye an escape route, I swear I'll shoot you."

You raise your eyebrows as he turns and stalks away from you, stopping a good distance away and then giving you a pointed look.

You only allow yourself a triumphant grin when your back is turned and you've resumed a slightly more normal pace.

You continue along, sparing casual glances in store windows you pass to check Beggens's distance in their reflections. You have to admit, he's good at what he does. He's following about ten feet behind, not close enough for any passerby to think the two of you might be together, but not far enough for you to seriously consider making a run for it and succeeding.

You arrive at the street of the food stand, and the store owner, a veteran in his eighties who you happen to know pretty well (based mainly on the fact that he makes awesome food), spots you and waves. You grin and wave back.

You head over to the stand and lean on the counter on one elbow, careful to half-face the owner, half-face the street, so you can see Beggens and he can see you. "Two with everything, please," you tell the man--His name-tag says Stan. Stan the Hotdog Man, hmm--and he asks, "Where's your brother?"

"Back at the dorms. Actually, I have to ask you about that…." You mentally make sure that your wallet is in your right pocket, with your watch. You remember stuffing your notebook in your left, so it has to be in your right. Good. "How much for the hotdogs?" You do intend, of course, to plan with Stan _(a plan with Stan...)_ outright, but you're going to have to stall a bit, discuss food, so even if Beggens does get suspicious, he'll have no evidence past his own paranoia to act on.

"Four marks, eight-hundred sixty cenz," says Stan, confused by the apparent non sequitur.

"How about I give you twenty marks instead?" you suggest. Stan's eyes widen slightly. You turn, completely natural, to take out your wallet, effectively blocking Beggens's view, and continue under your breath, "See the guy in the military uniform behind me?"

You like Stan. He has good hotdogs. Expensive hotdogs, but totally worth the extra cenz. But not only that, he doesn't talk down to you, and he's surprisingly intelligent for a food vendor, and he also happens to be an avid conspiracy theorist.

The first time you visited his shop he accused you of setting evidence for some convoluted scheme in order to shut his business down. Once Al managed to convince him that you just wanted lunch and you got over the fact that he thought you were a criminal, it was sort of funny.

This time, the accusations were actually mostly true.

Stan's eyes barely flicker over your shoulder (for once you're thankful for being so sho--_compact,_ because he has a clear view) and then he says, coolly, "Yeah. You want extra relish with that?" He starts making the hotdogs, but his eyes keep coming back to you.

Good man. "You know me. Extra everything." You rifle through your wallet, your back still facing the street, searching for a twenty-marks. "He's been following me for six blocks now. I can only assume the military wants me followed for some reason," you mutter. "He's got a gun."

This time he actually shows surprise, but luckily no doubt. It's like he's been suspecting something like this all along. "You a suspect for something?"

"People's Alchemist," you reply shortly. "I'm always a suspect." He nods slowly. You find the bill and put your wallet back. He hands you the first hotdog. It smells like grease and ketchup and you realize for the first time you're actually starving. "I'm starting to get nervous. And I mean, I obviously haven't turned into any deserted alleyways or anything, but I'm really starting to get nervous…." You trail off, and Stan seems to believe you.

"I think I have what you need," he says. You smile, hand him the twenty, ad tell him, "Thanks. I'll double that afterward."

"Hmm," is his only reply, eyes on Beggens, studying him now. "Will he use that gun?"

With Beggens annoyed as he is, you're not completely sure. "Nah…see how young he is? _I've_ been in the military longer than he has. He wouldn't have the guts." Two probable lies right there, but Stan looks satisfied. You take a bite of the hotdog and the massive amount of relish overwhelms every other taste. You suppose that's your equivalent exchange for distracting the man.

You're almost expecting it when Beggens comes up behind you, doesn't meet your eye, stands a small distance away so the space between you is appropriate for any two strangers on the street. "If you're quite done with his order," Beggens tells Stan, a little testily, "I'd like to order too."

"Certainly, sir," says Stan dryly. "Would you prefer the mucho-muncho-deluxe combo or the super-supper-deluxe combo?"

"I wa--" Beggens stops and stares at Stan like he's sprouted an extra eye. "Excuse me?"

"Or perhaps the hot-off-the-grill salad special?"

"Salad spe--?"

"Maybe the low-carb meal," Stan continues, eyeing Beggens's belly.

"Low-- I just want a hotdog!"

"Well, then, that narrows the search a bit." Stan smiles brightly at his customer and reaches behind the counter, pulling out, with no small amount of difficulty, a giant rectangle.

You edge _teensy_ bit by teensy bit into the crowd, keeping an eye on Beggens and biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing your face off.

_"What_ is _that_-?" Beggens demands, wide-eyed, masterfully distracted--you'll have to thank Stan again later--before he is enveloped in the rectangle, which turns out to be a huge, complicated-looking menu.

"Let's start at section one, paragraph A," Stan says, and with Beggens's furious, sputtering face taken up completely by the menu, you turn and run through the crowd, taking random turns until finally you let yourself slow down at a crowded business street.

Mission accomplished. You rest your hands on your knees and consider your options: No doubt Lieutenant Beggens will be after you soon enough, and this time he won't be just angry. You look around the street shops. There are two very busy stores, each with convenient, easy-to-get-lost-in crowds. One is a clothing store. The other is a grocery store. There's also a reputable-looking bookstore closer to you, but it is virtually empty, as well as probably the first place Beggens would look. Hm....


	22. Chapter 22

--You guys, I am SO, SO sorry that I made you wait so long D: My life got totally insane lately, and right now it's the calm before the next storm, as it were, and I want to give you at least something small. I'm really, really sorry.. I'm going to try to update from now on once a week, okay? I'm really sorry. Thank you all of my wonderful, AMAZING readers and reviewers. You guys are saints, no joke (hugs ALL OF YOU)  
--Ha-ha! You guys give me too much credit! Just look in the reviews, you'll find nine-tenths of the plot there :D (ahem-ahem oldercousin ;) ) Clothing store it is!

* * *

You make your way to the other side of the street, checking behind you for any sign of a rampaging lieutenant, and munching on your hotdog--you never ended up getting your second one, and you actually contemplate sneaking back for it before you realize that that is an utterly idiotic idea--and you slip past a group of a half a dozen giggling girls into the clothing store.

The store smells weird, you realize at once. Like a lot of different types of plastic all in one place. You chew thoughtfully, looking around at the displays- mostly makeup and shoes, and one middle-aged dude scoping out the... underclothes area (which would explain the giggling girls outside). You wander over to a clear counter displaying a long row of jewelry, including some earrings that look kinda like the ones Winry wears....

"Excuse me, sir-"

You whirl so fast your braid snaps out behind you, and you've almost flung your hotdog at the person in some kind of panicked attempt at distraction when you realize that you are not, in fact, staring at a man in a military uniform, or at a _man_ for that matter, or, more importantly, down the barrel of a gun.

The employee leans just slightly away from you, taken aback. "No food allowed inside the store... sir," she says, very slowly.

"Oh. Um."

There's only a little left anyway. You stuff it all inside your mouth, and the employee stares at you like _you're_ the one going through the lingerie at the other end of the store.

"Can I. Help you?" she asks, obviously praying for a 'no.'

"Phblth."

She leans more away. "Excuse me?"

You swallow, grimacing as you feel the hotdog all the way down your throat. "Actually, yeah. What day is it today?"

She's edging away like she hopes you'll forget she was there. "...Thursday, sir."

You glare at her, but maybe wiping the leftover relish off your mouth at the same time somewhat spoiled the effect... "No, the day of the month!"

"The..." she stops. She furrows her eyebrows at the ceiling, and you wait. "The... eighteenth? Yesterday was..."

"Wednesday," you put in, obnoxiously. Hey, you're entitled to acting like a fifteen-year-old every once in a while.

She glares back at you. "Tuesday was the sixteenth, so today is the eighteenth. Sir."

"Oh, well, thank you, I guess. Ma'am."

"Who are you calling ma'am?" she cried indignantly. "I haven't even hit twenty-one yet!"

Yes, she actually _has_ hit twenty-one, but it's not really your duty to point that out. "Who are _you_ calling sir? I'm _fifteen!"_

She looks at you doubtfully. "...really?"

"Wh-- YES, really! In fact, I'm turning SIXTEEN this winter!"

"Oh. My." She cups her chin in her hand, now looking at you like you're some kind of phenomenon. "They just keep getting smaller, don't they?"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL HE COULD LIVE ON A MOLECULE OF FLUOROMETHYLIDYNIUM?!"

"_Excuse_ me?" she says again.

"IT'S A DIATOMIC MOLECULE COMPOSED OF FLUORINE COVALENTLY BONDED WITH-"

"Listen, kid, do you intend to buy something or not?!"

"Well I was THINKING of getting my friend Winry something for her birthday but I think I'll go elsewhere!"

"WHAT?? Not after you've wasted my time, brat, you aren't leaving here unless you leave some money!"

"Maybe if the _customer service_ was better I would be more open to buying something!"

"Shut up! You think it's easy dealing with bumbling idiots day in and day out, ohh, I'll buy this, no, I'll buy_ this_, can I sample this, oh, actually, I won't buy anything at all, hahahaha!" she yells back, her voice high and hysterical.

Now you're the one leaning away warily. "Hey, you took the job."

She advances on you and you back away until your back is right up against the counter. "Like you know anything about the downsides to a real job," she hisses.

_"ELRIC!"_

Your name echoes across the store, and you don't even bother looking up, you just wince, and the employee stares at the entrance of the store, where Lieutenant Beggens is glaring around the store, eyes spitting fury, gun drawn. Girls and employees are shrieking as they clear the area as fast as they can.

She looks back at you. "Do I even wanna know?" she says at last.

You shake your head, eyes still closed in a cringe. Darn it, how did you let yourself get distracted like that?

She looks at Beggens again and then back at you, and takes your wrist. "Come on."

You open your eyes, trying to wrench your arm away out of instinct. She holds on tighter, glaring at you. "I told you you're not leaving until you buy something." And then she almost-smiles down at you, and you blink back at her. Should you follow her? She could very well be tricking you. Should you just give up and hope Beggens doesn't shoot you on sight...?

"THIS GAME HAS GONE WAY TOO LONG, ELRIC!" Beggens yells from the doorway.


	23. Chapter 23

--(sigh) It's great to be back ^_^ Thanks to all the readers and reviewers!!  
oldercousin: o_o That WOULD be a weird way to go- having Beggens just SHOOT him. Lol- "Game over. Try again?" And it doesn't matter how you spell his name ^^; half the time I have to check back to make sure I spelled it right... ehehe...  
xXSweetestXAngelXNightmareXx: LOL. Just... LOL. :DD Bribe and RUN!  
AnimeCookie93: Hahaha! Oh, I know.. Why don't we all just start referring to ourselves as Ed from now on? Problem solved! None of this 'reader' business.... He can take care of myself indeed (LAUGHS) A lot of times I find myself writing in present tense, second person (which is what this story is, and a really weird POV) in my usual writing, or even in school reports, and I'll be like D: NO, DARNIT. I really, really like this POV, I've found... =_=  
FullmetalKeyblade-13: I feel sorry for her too 0_o People can be really stupid a lot of the time.... Dealing with a lot of people who can be stupid a lot of the time is... Yes.  
The Ever-Blue Alchemist: LOL--LET THE PLOT THICKEN INDEED!  
FOLLOW THE LADY FOR GREAT JUSTICE!!

* * *

The two of you duck behind a long row of pajamas as Beggens storms in, and she leads you to a far corner of the store where a full-length mirror is up against the wall.

She frowns at you, tugging the red coat off your shoulders and grabbing a black (girl's) hoodie from the rack next to you and forcing you into that instead.

"Hey, waitaminute..." you protest, but you've made your voice quiet to begin with so as not to attract any... uh... undue attention, and the sweatshirt muffles most of what's left. When you finally emerge she stuffs your arms into the sleeves and pulls the hood over your eyes.

"Your hair is ridiculous," she tells you, frustrated. "Are you TRYING to be as distinctive as possible?"

"I like my hair," you mutter back, defensively. "Couldn't you have gotten a GUY's hoodie? This thing is loose in all the wrong places-"

"Shut up," she hisses. "This a girl's clothing store, what did you expect?"

You can hear Beggens glancing around the store, footsteps heavy and angry and getting closer...

"Uh-" you begin nervously, but she's already grabbing a skirt from the rack, and shushes you again.

She holds the skirt out to you.

You stare.

She stares back, stony-faced, and one eyebrow lifts slowly.

"Oh, no," you respond, backing away, voice panicky, your arms out in front of you as if to block an attack. "No no no no no..."

"It's either this or get caught by that soldier."

"Then at least I'm only risking my life, not my MANHOOD!"

"Oh, please," she rolls her eyes. "Your manhood is only compromised if he recognizes you."

"EXACTLY!"

"Which he _won't_ if you just do as I say."

"Isn't there something else I can wear?" you cry, desperate. "Girls wear pants!"

"It wouldn't be a _disguise_ then!"

"Can't we just go out a back door or something-?" Your voice is way too high, and she hisses a "shut up!" at you.

"You want to go out the back door? Be my guest." She points to the back entrance, which is right next to where Beggens is standing.

"Oh," you murmur.

"Exactly. Well, it's your choice," she says, dangling the skirt now. You notice for the first time that it's black, and frilly at the bottom. Your eye twitches. "You could wear this, and I'll cover for you- no one will have to know, it's not like I'll ever see you again- _or_ you could get caught, and I'll laugh."

You watch Beggens turn, his eyes narrowed, as he heads over to the corner of the store that the two of you are in.... You pull your gaze down again, eyeing the skirt distrustfully, beginning to panic....


	24. Chapter 24

(sniffs) I'm sick and my brains are LEAKING OUT MY NOSE, so personal shout-outs are a bit beyond me right now =_= BUT! I would like to point out that every single review was basically, "INTO THE SKIRT YOU GO, EDDY-BOY!" (Laughs)  
God, I love you guys....  
(P.s. If there are any artists out there, I am TOTALLY NOT asking for fanart of Ed in the skirt. Not at all. Because that would be mean, not to mention extremely fangirlish of me.... Oh, who am I kidding? GIVE ME ART, PLEEEEASE!!)

* * *

...And he starts heading in your direction. Desperately, you grab the skirt (cringing inwardly, already vowing that this never happened) and pull it on, OVER YOUR PANTS. So it's like half a robe. Right. Half of a perfectly respectable, man-able garment. With frills at the bottom.

You actually realize WHAT THE HECK YOU'RE DOING for the first time, and the blush slams on to your face. You pull desperately at the skirt, but by then the lady has picked out a bright red belt from the pants (pants! _Why_ couldn't you wear pants again??) on the rack behind you, and slung it around waist, and the situation is so ridiculous that you don't even bother calling her on the sexual harassment--although technically you're supposed to be a girl--and besides, this is not a great time to get her mad.

"WHAT are you doing just standing there?" she hisses as she fixes the clasp. "Roll up your pants!" And then she sneaks off toward a shoe rack a few yards away. You mentally dare her to not come back, rolling your eyes.

You kneel to pull your pant legs up over your knees, and your self-esteem sinks some more. You watch the lady's shoes approach from your vantage point on the floor, and then a pair of neon red knee-high boots drops in front of you, and you actually _look_ at them.

They're the same color as your red coat, with black criss-crossing laces all up the sides, and the tiniest platform heel-- Not that you'd need the extra height, of course. They're... actually sort of... awesome.

"Do guys get those too?" you ask hopefully. She shushes you impatiently and you kick your leather boots off and pull the red ones on. They're way too loose. What did she get, size forty-three?

"Whatever you do, _don't talk,"_ she tells you quietly. You frown at the floor. Does she honestly think you would be stupid enough to do that? Ha. As if you'd risk your cover being blown while in THIS.

You straighten up to tell her so, and find yourself face-to-face with Lieutenant Beggens. Or, at least, face-to-back of head. He's looking over the employee's shoulder, looking at the employee, glaring all over the store. You pull the hood farther over your face, swallowing hard. He's less than _three feet away._

He looks at you, and for the most miniscule fraction of a second his eyes narrow. Your brain promptly suggests that you ditch the skirt and run for it, but you manage to force yourself to stay put while Beggens shakes his head as if to wake himself up, and says would-be-calmly, "Have you seen a teenaged boy with blonde hair and a bright red coat- probably running, possibly eating a hotdog, about this tall...." He puts his hand about at level with the middle of chest, and you bite your lip just to keep the fury in, while images of death and destruction flash in front of your eyes.

"Sorry, sir," the lady lies, utterly unconcerned. "I'll be sure to let you know if I ever see him."

"Yes, you-" He fumbles for a bit, geared for blinding rage and then faced with total compliance. You know the feeling. "You do that," he says finally, a little more forcefully than necessary. "You haven't seen him either, I suppose?" he asks, voice more tired and resigned, addressing you now.

Um.

You shake your head. He sighs, not really having expected anything else. He puts his gun away, and you let yourself relax the tiniest bit.

Now that you think of it, this outfit has been extremely helpful-- with a few more pieces added to the disguise, maybe your hair dyed or something, you could really work with i--

You realize that Beggens has been talking while you've been thinking, and you snap back to reality just in time to hear him say, his voice troubled, "...should stay indoors and lock the store. The military has already sent investigators, but even so, the suspect could still be nearby...."

The lady has gone pale. "This... Elric kid you were looking for... he isn't the suspect, is he?"

Beggens looks surprised. "What? No. He's just a brat." You barely stifle a growl. "But he could be in serious trouble if he doesn't show up soon. Aside from refusing to follow orders, he could be under suspicion if anyone finds out that he conveniently disappeared right around when the murder was discovered."

Murder....?

"Not that I think he would do something like that," Beggens adds, tiredly running a hand over his eyes. "But you have to see the logic in it. Not to _mention_ that Elric has a habit of attracting the most people in the area, and with the murderer still on the loose...."

You're still standing there, shell-shocked. The lady looks relieved. Beggens seems to realize how much he's said and apologizes quickly, "I'm sorry to bother you with all this. If you see the kid, make sure to bring him straight to military Headquarters or report him to one of the soldiers investigating the murder-- they're all with Colonel Mustang, so they should be able to help you out."

"Alright, we will. Thanks officer."

Beggens leaves, looking worried and confused, and you almost want to turn yourself in (after you take off the costume, of course). At least that way you can get the punishment over with and start investigating the murder. But then, there's also the employee to worry about-- she said she wouldn't let you out until you bought something.... And obviously there's always the (granted, unlikely) possibility that Beggens's whole story was a trick.

What now?


	25. Chapter 25

(slinks back in apologetically) H-hey... (nervous wave) You guys took that really well, actually (laughs) Don't worry, I'm trying to keep Ed from being killed this time, as I've already killed him once before and felt very guilty about it (in my story Inevitability, and yes, that is indeed shameless self-promotion that you see here)... =_= But, just so we're clear, you guys DO realize that I've got to follow the natural consequences of your choices, right? If you keep choosing to fling Ed/yourselves into suicidal situations, he'll probably have to end up dead... But! Enough morbidity! I'm gonna reply to people's reviews next time, 'cause I've got a computer-time limit today, and I'm typing like a maniac, can you tell? but I do have to tell you that the wonderful, _wonderful_ FulllmetalKeyblade-13 drew Ed in a skirt for me (wriggle-dances with joy) and the link is in my profile and go check it out noooowww.... :DDD  
Most of you said to ditch the outfit for now, and go check out the murder, so that is what we shall do! Also, anyone who has any suspicions about who-dunnit, PLEASE tell me, I wanna hear your theories! And now...

* * *

You're left staring after him in shock, and after a few mental kicks, you manage to get your brain started again. Immediately your mind jumps to the human transmutation, and a shiver curls down your spine as you consider a connection between the two. Even though you know nothing about the investigation aside from that someone was killed and that the body was found somewhere near here, and even less about the human transmutation attempt, the dread is cold and heavy in your stomach, possibly intuition, possibly paranoia, most likely both.

As soon as Beggens is safely and long out of the store, you begin pulling the hoodie off, undoing the belt, stepping out of the skirt... The relief blooms then, sort of delayed by the surprise when you heard the news of the murder, but the skirt jerks you back to the present. As you finally let yourself relax you almost sag with the strength of the relief pulsing through you.

You take a slightly longer time taking off the boots, staring at them longingly before pulling on your own shoes, and then looking around for your coat.

The lady is holding it out for you. "Thanks," you tell her. "For, uh... you know."

"You didn't kill him," she says, instead of replying. You pause mid- shrugging your coat on and look up at her, hearing the tiniest hint of a question in her voice.

"No," you say, a little offended. "Do I look like a killer to you?"

One corner of her mouth quirks up. "No..." Somehow she's managed to turn that single word into an insult on your manhood, just from the inflection, and you glare at her.

"You will tell no one of this," you hiss, a blush creeping across your cheeks. "Or I really might have to resort to murder."

"Are you trying to reclaim your macho-ness?" she asks, utterly serene. "It's not working."

"Yeah, well." There's no answer to that that won't make you seem like a jerk, or worse, a pansy, and besides for that it's probably not a great idea to insult her, what with the information she's got....

"Thanks for your help," you tell her, trying to ignore the faint blush that's just refusing to go away. "See you." You turn for the door, already running over in your mind what you know about both cases, when she says, in a low, dangerous voice, "i thought I told you that you weren't leaving here until you purchase something."

You stop, glancing over your shoulder at the lady. Oh, riiight. "I guess I'll take those earrings I was looking at earlier. How much are they?"

"Very well, sir," she replies, all business and formality now that she's got a sale. "That's eight-hundred marks. Anything else?"

"No, I do--EIGHT-HUNDRED MARKS?!"

"Is there a problem, sir?" she asks calmly.

"They are NOT!"

"I've been considerate enough to include tips in my calculation," she says, the wide, evil grin belying the solemnity of her voice.

You snort. "Fine, whatever, I'll just shuffle it off to Mustang's tab. Can I get the earrings and go now?"

"The clothes will be an added six-hundred forty marks, sir."

_Wh--_ "WHAT?! B-- but I just--"

"Once the clothing is used, the customer has to pay for it. Sir," she adds quickly, almost forgetting it in her glee.

"They aren't _used_, I just--"

"That'll be fifteen-hundred marks in all," she tells him. "Would you like me to call the authorities to enforce the store policies? I am under the impression that there are some soliders nearby...."

You honestly feel like fainting. This manipulative-- "F-Fine!" you snap. "I'll freakin' pay for all of it, don't call the military!"

She smiles angelically at you.

At the register, you grumble curses under your breath- or, more accurately, just loud enough for her to hear- hunching your shoulders and basically sulking away, while she hums, tapping away at the buttons and counting money, an insanely huge grin on her face.

"Who knows?" she says brightly, handing you the bag. You give her a glare that would melt stone. "Maybe the outfit will come in useful for something."

There is _no way_ to misinterpret her tone. "Wh- what are you implying?" you demand, the blush coming back full-force.

"Oh, nothing," she says innocently, smiling at you, quite friendly now that you've tripled her paycheck. You scowl back at her, although the flush on your cheeks probably ruins it some.

"I hope I never see you again," you grumble as leave the store, holding the bag over your shoulder so the brand on the side is more difficult to see.

"You too," she calls back. You push open the door, and you step out into the deserted street.

Just a while ago this road has been full of people, but the combination of the murder and Lieutenant Beggens storming through with a gun had scared everyone away. You look around, weighing your options. You could find the crime scene right away, and risk getting caught; or you could go straight back to Headquarters and try to bluff your way out of trouble by convincing them that Beggens left _you_, you would never do all that stuff he's accusing you of, no sir; or you could call Al, like your plan was originally.

You wander down the street, the bag over your shoulder, thinking....


	26. Chapter 26

Alright! It's been awhile, I know, I'm sorry. Life is crazy (SATs coming up, eek!), and once again I have a computer time limit--actually, I'm on this awesome computer at my dad's work--and one of these days I really am going to respond to everybody's reviews... -_- Please forgive me this once! I love your comments and ideas and support! Keep 'em coming!  
There were quite a few pretty awesome ideas, and I hope to incorporate them into the plot (so watch out for anything you contributed! :D) but as for what to do right now, most of the votes went to calling Al before doing anything stupid. Onwards!

* * *

Heading back the way you came, you have to keep reminding yourself that you can't just go barging in to the crime scene to check it out-- not with all the trouble you're in. Instead you consider your next move, wandering through the empty streets and trying to connect the alleged human transmutation with the murder today, because _something_ tells you that's what it is. That's what it _has_ to be. It's too much of a coincidence to be otherwise.

...Could you have possibly misheard them? Could you have misunderstood their meaning? Maybe... Maybe they were speaking in code, referring to the murder instead? But if that was the case, wouldn't they choose a code that was harmless, instead of a punishable-by-death taboo? Maybe they were speaking in code, referring to nothing of importance at all. But then why were they armed? Was it even so strange that they were armed?

You shake your head, trying to clear it of the muck blocking your perception. Your questions lead nowhere, because you have no information, no evidence to attach to your hypotheses. That's why you have to get to the crime scene, to get the missing information. But... you can't go to the crime scene. You resist the urge to turn and bang your head against the nearest wall. In attempting to escape Beggens's constant supervision to find whatever clues you could, you barred yourself from the ones already available.

You can't help but wonder wistfully (you have to remind yourself that it's a _murder_--somebody _died_) what sort of clues are at the crime scene. What sort of conclusions Mustang's men are drawing. Are they the right ones? At least you know any totally illogical theories will be vetoed by Mustang, and at least he's aware of the human transmutation, but still. What difference would you be making if you were there?

Staying curious and ignorant for extended periods of time has never been your strong suit. You want to track Beggens down, take whatever punishment that comes, just get to the facts already! But you're not going to fool yourself; Beggens probably wants to execute you on the spot, and you shudder to think what punishment Mustang will come up with when he knows--that is, if he doesn't know already. You have a pretty good idea it will have to do with not being involved in the investigation of the case.

The two cases. You have to remember to approach the evidence as if the two incidents are unrelated, at least until you have proof that they aren't.

If they aren't-- Well, how will you know that they aren't? If the final goal of the murderer is human transmutation...

If the final goal of the murderer is human transmutation, then the simplest explanation is that they are going to try to bring the murderee back to life. But that doesn't make any sense. Why kill them just to bring them back again, with no chance (you know) of success? You feel a little sick. In that case it would be almost as if they were_ practicing._ But practicing for what? Maybe someone else killed the person, and the men you saw yesterday are trying to bring him back to life. But how would they know the murder would happen?

It had to be that the men planning human transmutation were the same, or somehow connected, to the murderer. But if they really thought that they could bring the dead person back, why leave the body for everyone to see? That way, even if they did manage to somehow get the body back, and even if they _did_ somehow bring him back to life, everyone would recognize the human transmutation, and they would be put to death.

Was that... what they _wanted...?_

You're startled out of your thoughts by a thunderous bell... and then another... and then another. You look around, and you realize that you're right under the church, its giant, chiming clock tolling not twenty yards above you. It finishes its last, fourteenth toll, but it takes a while before you realize what that means.

Two o'clock. You stare up at the clock, utterly bewildered. When did it get that late? You rub your head sheepishly, finally understanding why Beggens was so desperate to find you. What with the murder, and the very likely possibility that whoever wants to attempt human transmutation wants to get rid of you first, plus your disappearance, must have summed up to one very bad conclusion. Luckily, Beggens had seen the victim; otherwise he may have even thought that you had, well. Snubbed authority for the last time.

(Ha. They wish.)

Still, it isn't just Beggens who may be waiting for you..

_Al,_ you think, and a little knot of regret coils in your stomach. You promised you would call him at lunch break, and who knows what he's heard by now?

There's also the face that suddenly, you really, really want to hear his voice.

You speed up, half-jogging until you reach the nearest pay phone, and slide gratefully in when you find one outside a large mall complex. You pull out your (poor, poor, abused) wallet, and push some cenz into the slot. You dial the dorm and wait, leaning the receiver against your shoulder, shifting anxiously.

The line picks up. You almost want to do a little dance of glee. Once Al gets caught up on everything that's happened, you're sure that everything will work out- Maybe he could even get you out of trouble.

Or maybe he can't.

Probably he can't.

You sigh.

"Brother?" Al says immediately. Not 'hello.' A rush of shame burns through you, remembering that you kept him waiting for an hour and a half.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm sorry-"

"Where are you?!" he yells back. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?!"

You think back to Beggens stampeding the clothes store, swinging his gun. Yes, you are perfectly aware of how much trouble you're in, but you had been hoping to keep it from Al.

"Look, I'm sorry. Things got weird."

"'Things got weird.'"

"Um. Yeah. Really, really weird. Funny story... sort of. Oh, also, I'm broke. Another funny-ish story. Actually, they're both basically the same story..."

"There's been a murder," Al says, his voice unnaturally calm.

"I know," you say, surprised. "How do you know?"

"Tell me, please, Brother," Al continues, in that same, frighteningly amiable tone. "You disappeared for hours on end. There's been a murder. You got a death threat yesterday. _Please,_ tell me what exactly I was supposed to conclude from that information."

Oh. You blink at the pay phone. "How do you know about the murder?" you ask again, backing away from the actual question.

"How do I--" Al makes a frustrated growling sound. "Colonel Mustang called and asked if you had come here after you had ditched Beggens. He explained everything to me. That was over forty-five minutes ago. What do you think I've been doing all that time?"

So Mustang knows. He's going to be a freaking ice statue when you get back, cold and sarcastic and you have _not_ heard the end of this.. "Al, I'm sorry-"

"You told me not to investigate until you get back," Al says, ignoring you, sounding close to the tears he can't shed. "But you think it's alright for you to almost get yourself killed while I'm waiting innocently at home? How long will it be before you start trusting me?"

"Wh-- Al, I trust you! And I didn't almost get myself killed! The only thing endangering me was Beggens."

_"You made me think you were dead and that's the same thing!"_ Al shouts back, the line crackling with the volume of it. "And you obviously_ don't_ trust me. Not enough to take care of myself as well as you. Obviously you can go off where and whenever you want, but I have to have my every move supervised." You try to reply, but you're too shell-shocked to do so quickly enough, and Al sighs and says, slightly softer, "I know you're just trying to protect me, but if you would just let me protect you back... Is that so much to ask? I'm the near-invulnerable one, Brother!"

"You're the only family I have left," is the only sentence you can manage at this point. It comes out automatically, and you aren't even sure it makes sense in response to Al's tirade.

"But you're mine," he says. You have no answer for that.

"So you won't do that again?" Al asks, hopefulness tingeing his voice. "Promise?"

"Promise," you say immediately.

"You won't go off on your own anymore?"

"No."

"Promise?" he asks again.

"Promise."

"Not even..." he hesitates, and you wait, growing apprehensive. "Not even if it would be easier to leave me behind? Or if it was really dangerous? I mean, more dangerous than usual?" he finishes, his voice quiet and doubtful.

"...Al, where is this coming from?"

"You have to promise."

"Al, what do you know about this case?"

_"Promise,_ Brother!"

"No! Not until you tell me what Mustang said to you!"

"He didn't say anything to me," Al says immediately. He's lying.

"So help me, Al..."

"Do you have any idea what you put me through every time you do this?" Al screams, taking you by surprise. "Every single time. Someday we're going to run out of luck and I'm going to be alone again, do you have any idea that_ you can't get this lucky every time?"_

"What are you talking a-"

"How would you like it if I did that to you _every freaking chance I got?_ I'm sick of being all good and obedient, and staying put. If the murderers and the men doing human transmutation are the same, then they're still somewhere close. I could go after them myself."

Your insides freeze. "Wait. Wait a minute, Al, listen to me-"

"I would, but somehow, every time I do that, you show up covered in blood. You'll see. I can protect you, too, if you just gave me the chance..."

"_Do not_ hang up on me, Alphonse Elric, I swear-"

"I know just where to start looking, too," Al says thoughtfully, and you bang your fist against the wall.

"Don't you_ dare_ hang up you _brat_, I'll kill you if you even _think_-"

"Too late," Al says, with a recklessness that you've never heard from him. "I've already thought."

The line goes dead.


End file.
